


The Path Between the Stars

by banditess



Series: Ardynoct Week 2017 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Faerie King!Ardyn, Fairy Tale Logic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 15:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banditess/pseuds/banditess
Summary: Prince Noctis has major concerns about the fact that the responsibilities of ruling are about to fall on his shoulders -- until he meets a handsome stranger at his birthday party who offers to take it all away, and he begins having strange dreams about talking ravens and far away palaces...





	The Path Between the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nickofhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickofhearts/gifts).



> Here it is: the infamous fic that was _supposed_ to only be 3000 words, that unintentionally consumed my entire month of September, and that made it so that I only had 4 entries for Ardynoct Week instead of the 7 I originally planned, ahahaha...
> 
> This was inspired a little by Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, and a little by Labyrinth. If you're familiar with either or both of those, I'm sure you'll feel the spirit of them.
> 
> This was written for Ardynoct Week Day 6: Meeting in Dreams. I hope you enjoy this ridiculous thing that temporarily ate my life entirely. ;)
> 
> (For nickofhearts, my constant cheerleader -- thank you for everything and happy Ardynoct Week ♥ :3)

It wasn’t that Prince Noctis didn’t _appreciate_ all the attention he was getting for his birthday -- it was just that after a time, rubbing elbows with every Duke and Baroness in the Kingdom got to be _exhausting_. Particularly so when he _knew_ the only reason half of the attendees were speaking to him was so that he would pass on whatever their _pressing issue_ was to his father, King Regis. After what must have been the fiftieth conversation about balancing the costs of labor in another backwater fiefdom on the outskirts of their territory, the Prince politely excused himself, leaving the nobles to annoy his father and taking his glass of champagne out onto the balcony.  
  
The instant he stepped outside, the tension in his shoulders lifted. It was as though he’d passed through a magical barrier of some sort -- not that _those_ existed. Noctis downed the remainder of his champagne and set the empty flute aside. Leaning against the marble balustrade, he looked out over the palace gardens, noting the few summer-blooming flowers sprinkling color here and there, and sighed.  
  
“Ah, I see I was not the only one seeking a reprieve from the festivities.”  
  
Noct turned towards the deep, rich voice to find a tall man standing in the doorway. His hair was a dark shade of purple-red, the color of ripening blackberries. He wore tall black riding boots over kelly green trousers, and a white ruffled shirt that peeked out of the collar of a black waistcoat. A floral-patterned gray scarf hung around his neck. Completing the ensemble was an elaborate black jacket, trimmed in gold and embroidered with flowers on the lapels. Most curious were the epaulettes at his shoulders, which looked like they were made of… _crow feathers_?  
  
“May I join you, Your Highness?” asked the tall man.  
  
“Oh. Uh, sure,” Noct replied. He’d come to the balcony for solitude, but there was something in the man’s voice he couldn’t resist. Like it was calling out to some buried part of him, and he was compelled to answer.  
  
The man grabbed two glasses of champagne from an attendant near the doorway and stepped out onto the balcony. Drinks in hand, he bowed respectfully to the Prince, and -- taking care not to spill -- held out one bubbling flute in offering.  
  
Noctis took the glass. “Thanks.”  
  
“Certainly, Your Highness.” The man raised his glass. “A toast to you, Prince Noctis, on this most _joyous_ occasion.”  
  
“Yeah,” Noct scoffed, lifting his glass half-heartedly. “Joyous.”  
  
The tall man frowned. “What’s this? Surely the guest of honor is not having a _poor time_ at _his own_ celebration.”  
  
“No, it’s just…talking to all the nobles is _depressing_.” Noct paused, then squinted, eyeing the tall man suspiciously. “But why am I telling _you_ all this? I’ve never even _seen_ you before -- I don’t even _know your name_.”  
  
The man smiled genially, and as he did so the Prince’s heart tightened in his chest, the way it does when one views a particularly beautiful painting for the first time. He became suddenly painfully aware of the man’s strong jawline, and the stubble along it. Amber eyes the color of the harvest moon in autumn held Noctis in their gaze, as effective as if the man were physically holding him in place.  
  
“Truly, I am a man of no consequence, but if it pleases His Highness...call me Ardyn.” He placed his champagne on the balustrade and swept into a low bow, one arm behind his back and the other over his heart in salute.  
  
“Ardyn.” Noctis liked the way the name rolled off his tongue. “What brings you to my party, Ardyn?”  
  
The tall man -- Ardyn -- chuckled softly. “Why, _you_ do, of course. I’ve no stake in the games your nobility play -- I am simply here to wish you good fortune. Though, if you don’t mind my saying so, Your Highness…it sounds as though your good fortune weighs _heavily_ upon you.”  
  
Noctis looked out over the gardens, a somber expression crossing his face. Ardyn wasn’t wrong. The Prince often wished he were somewhere else -- _someone_ else, even. Moreso now that his father’s strength was visibly going from him. He just…wasn’t ready for everything that ruling entailed.  
  
Ardyn followed Noct’s gaze out into the gardens, and then up at the bright moon. He took a few steps away from Noctis. “Ah, I’m afraid I must be going, Your Highness. But should you ever find you need respite from more than just your party…please know that I am here for you.”  
  
“How will I find--” Noctis started to ask.  
  
Maybe Noctis had just been drinking too much champagne, but when he turned around, Ardyn had vanished. A single crow feather lay on the ground in the middle of the balcony where he should have been standing. Noct picked it up, placed it in his jacket pocket, and returned to the party.  
  


\--~--  
  


Prince Noctis shivers in the cool night air. He can hardly see ten feet in front of him -- a heavy fog obscures all but his immediate surroundings, though the full moon overhead provides some illumination. Fortunately, there isn’t much to see -- just the earth beneath his feet and the trees lined up on either side of him, their branches heavy with pale green leaves. A raven caws loudly from somewhere close by, though between the fog and the darkness of the night, Noctis can’t tell where it might be.  
  
He begins to put one foot cautiously in front of the other, moving forward. He stumbles once, catching the toe of his boot on a gnarled tree root. From then on he keeps an eye on his feet, careful he does not make the same mistake twice. Another raven caws, closer this time, more insistent. Maybe it’s just a trick of his eyes, but it looks like there’s light up ahead…  
  
Noctis keeps moving. He walks along the twisting path until his legs begin to ache for him to rest, until he feels blisters forming on the soles of his feet. How many _hours_ has he been walking? How is it still _night_? The path shows no signs of ending, though the light in the fog he follows is yet present.  
  
A third raven calls -- or have they all been the same raven? -- and this time Noctis sees it, on a low branch a few feet before him. Pushing through the pain in his calves, he walks towards it. As he approaches, the raven takes off. It lands a few feet further away on another low branch, still within his field of vision. Is it... _guiding_ him? He’s not certain how much he can trust a _bird_ to show him the way through. Suddenly, he recalls the old tales: Ravens are the emissaries of the Faerie King, the Lord of Tricksters. But those are just stories grandmothers tell to scare their grandchildren into behaving...aren’t they? Surely this raven isn’t _actually_ helping him. It’s only fleeing as Noct gets closer, as any animal would do.  
  
These are his thoughts as he trudges up an incline, which had begun gradually a few yards back and was now so steep he was nearly climbing it. The raven waits patiently for him in a tree at the summit. He crests the hill and pauses momentarily to catch his breath. Looking around, Noctis notices that while the path behind him is still shrouded by fog, the way ahead of him has miraculously cleared.  
  
Noct gasps as he takes in the view. The night sky has a deep purplish hue, rather than the stark black he knows, but the stars are ever the same -- and with not a cloud in the sky and no towns to fill the world with light, the whole of the universe seems visible. Below, a great forest stretches forth, as far as the eye can see. With the top of the hill as his vantage point, a grand palace is visible standing some distance away, tall white towers soaring above the trees.  
  
A palace…much like the one Noctis calls home. _Home_ … Slowly, he has the creeping realization that he has no idea how he had come to be in the forest in the first place. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. He looks down at the palace below, up at the moon, back at the foggy path, then up at the raven in the tree, who looks straight back at him and croaks, in perfect Common, “We shall see you again soon, Your Highness.”  
  


\--~--  
  


Prince Noctis opened his eyes and flinched at the unexpected brightness of the sunlight spilling in through his bedroom window. He laid his arm over his face and groaned. Morning again. He took a few minutes to enjoy the warm, comforting embrace of his mattress before he made any move to get up. He yawned deeply, his eyelids heavy, and decided he should get up before Ignis came banging on his chamber door.  
  
Noctis winced when he put his feet on the floor. Did he step on something? He lifted up one foot to check, thinking he might find a splinter. Instead, he stared at his foot, frowning. The ball of it was blistered, as though he’d walked _miles_. He carefully put that foot down and checked the other. Its condition was the same. He stood up carefully, but as he rose from the bed, his legs began to ache, like a simmering fire in his calf muscles.  
  
What was going on? He hadn’t even left the palace yesterday -- it wasn’t like he had walked to the next kingdom and back. Grimacing as he limped to the chamber door in his nightshirt, Noctis headed straight for Ignis’ room, in the hopes that his aide might have some gauze and ointment for the blisters -- or, barring that, maybe he’d at least have a few minutes to spare to give his Prince a _leg massage_.  
  
Ignis did indeed have both gauze and ointment -- but he also had a _lecture_.  
  
“Noct, I don’t know what you’ve been getting up to, but--” He cut off a long strip of gauze, wrapped it tightly around the Prince’s foot. “--perhaps this isn’t the time to be _running off_ into the woods? His Majesty needs you, now more than ever. What if you were more seriously injured -- or _lost_?”  
  
Noctis looked out of Ignis’ chamber window, quietly watching as sparrows flit by.  
  
Ignis sighed, resting his arms in his lap. “ _Noct_.”  
  
The tone of his friend’s voice snapped Noctis back to attention. “Huh? Sorry.”  
  
“I know you don’t want to hear this, Noct -- but with your father ill…it’s likely you will need to take on more duties from him, sooner rather than later. The people of this nation will be looking to you--”  
  
Noctis got up from his seat suddenly, one foot only half-bandaged. “You’re right -- I _don’t_ want to hear it. Because _I know_! It’s all I _think about_ , Iggy.” He moved towards the door. “But I can’t -- I just…I _can’t_.”  
  
He backed out of the door and stepped carefully back down the hall, leaving Ignis holding a pair of scissors and a roll of thick gauze, alone.

  
\--~--  
  


The moon is a waning gibbous overhead, surrounded by a multitude of twinkling stars. Noctis shudders as the wind blows through the trees, chilling him despite his long coat and trousers. He has been walking towards the palace he saw from the top of the hill for some time now, but it’s impossible to tell if he is any closer to his goal as he can no longer see the palace through the trees. His avian guide has also returned, flitting from tree to tree as Noctis progresses on the ground.  
  
“So, uh...am I getting close to the palace?” Noctis attempts to ask the bird, but alas, it has nothing to say.  
  
Again Noctis walks for what must be hours, and his feet and legs grow sore, but this time the wind is blowing cold in his face. He pulls the lapels of his coat up around his face, but the tops of his cheeks begin to chap, the wind whipping against them like lashes. And still, the palace he saw on the hilltop is nowhere to be seen.  
  
Noctis is starting to think that maybe he was just seeing things, that maybe the palace didn’t even exist at all. After a time, he is so weary from walking that his legs begin to shake -- and, eventually, they give out from under him. As he topples back towards the ground, a flock of ravens springs up from the nearby trees -- _where_ had they all _come from_ without him noticing? -- cawing and clamoring as they charge into the sky. Noctis braces himself, his jaw set in preparation for the pain of hitting the dirt below…but the impact never comes. In fact, there is something _holding him up_. Weakly, Noct turns his face.  
  
A figure in a black hooded cape has caught him mid-fall, one arm under his neck and the other beneath his thighs. Noct cannot see the figure’s face or tell... _anything_ about them, really, between the hood and the darkness of the night. The figure hefts him up and begins, wordlessly, to carry him along the path.  
  
“Wait…You don’t even know where I’m going…” Noctis protests weakly.  
  
He feels a rumbling laugh vibrate through the chest of the hooded figure. “Of course I do, Your Highness. ‘Twas I who invited you here, was it not?”  
  
The voice is familiar, low and velvety. Noctis furrows his brow. It couldn’t be…Could it?  
  
“You were at my birthday party. The man on the balcony…Ardyn?”  
  
He says the name aloud, and instantly -- as though it were an incantation -- the wind picks up, blowing the hood off of the person carrying him. Lo and behold, there is the claret hair he remembers, the golden eyes that had transfixed him so.  
  
“At your _humble_ service,” Ardyn smirks as he looks down at the prince in his arms. “Now then, shall we take the shortcut to our destination?”  
  
“The… _shortcut_?”  
  
“Unless you would rather I put you back where I found you, and let you continue wandering about in the woods?”  
  
Noctis shakes his head. “The shortcut’s fine.”  
  
Ardyn shifts Noct’s weight slightly, getting a better hold on him. Then, as though climbing an invisible staircase, he begins to step upwards into the air. Noct’s heart starts to race as he watches the ground grow distant beneath him. He curls his fingers in Ardyn’s cape, clinging closely to him.  
  
They climb above the treetops, and once again the palace is visible rising out of the forest, its towers looming in the distance. Ardyn pauses in mid-air, pursing his lips pensively. Noctis is about to ask if something is wrong when Ardyn lifts one long, lean leg and kicks it forward. With a _bang!_ his foot connects with something solid -- and _a door_ nearly comes clean off of its hinges in the middle of the open air. A candlelit hallway comes into view.  
  
Noctis looks up at Ardyn, his mouth open in shock.  
  
“See, now aren’t you _glad_ I found you? Well, I will admit that it was no accident -- a _little birdie_ told me where you might be,” Ardyn chuckled. “My ravens are _excellent_ spies, as you might imagine.”  
  
_His_ ravens? Noct thinks. He thinks about how Ardyn vanished at his birthday party, how he keeps finding himself in this _strange_ place that is like home but _not quite_ , where the nights are unending and the birds speak in human tongues. He thinks of how Ardyn found him just in the nick of time, appearing from nowhere, then strode up an invisible staircase and kicked in an invisible door leading to what seemed to be -- if Ardyn was to be believed -- a secret hallway to the palace Noctis had been trying to reach all this time. And now… _his_ ravens.  
  
The unlit candles in the sconces along the walls were lighting themselves as they passed. This small miracle, too, did not make things better.  
  
“Ardyn…” Noctis ventures. “Would you…put me down for a minute?”  
  
Ardyn obliges, letting him down gently. “Is something the matter?”  
  
Noct puts up a hand, defensively. “I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. Why am I here? And who are you, really? Don’t give me that nonsense you told me at the party.”  
  
Ardyn laughs, a wicked smile appearing on his face. “Oh, my _dear_ Prince Noctis, but I _did_ tell you at the party -- I told you that I would be here for you when you required a _reprieve_ from your royal obligations. You are _here_ because _you wish_ to be here. In your heart, you called for me to take you away from your responsibilities. And so I have.”  
  
Ardyn unties the knot holding his cape in place at his neck and slides it off of his shoulders. Rather than put it over his arm to carry it, he holds it up and lets it drop. Before it ever hits the floor, it transforms into innumerable black feathers, which dissolve in the candlelight.  
  
“As to my _identity_ …” He steps closer to Noctis, til the Prince’s back is forced against the wall. He takes Noct’s chin firmly in his grasp, running his thumb over Noct’s lower lip. The Prince shudders slightly in response. “You _have_ discerned that by now, have you not? You’re a smart lad.”  
  
Noct’s heart is pounding behind his ribs, but it’s more from the attention Ardyn is giving him than any intimidation he might be feeling. “You’re the Faerie King.”  
  
“I am known by many names: Lord of Tricksters, Master of Ravens, Ardyn the Immortal, Dreamwalker, and Granter of Desires -- and yes, _Faerie King_ , though I _would_ prefer if you simply continued calling me just ‘ _Ardyn_.’”  
  
“But…the Faerie King is just a bedtime story,” Noct argues, balling his hands into fists. “This can’t be real. _You_ can’t be real.”  
  
“Is that so?” Ardyn grins, laughing softly. “Please, allow me to provide you with _incontrovertible_ evidence to the contrary.”  
  
Noctis is trying to recall the definition of the word _incontrovertible_ when Ardyn puts a hand to the center of his chest and pins him completely to the hallway wall.  
  


\--~--  
  


There were three sharp knocks on the Prince’s chamber door.  
  
Noctis slowly pried his eyes open. The rays of sun were coming into his room at a different angle than usual -- he didn’t have to shield his eyes. It was louder outside than it usually was in the mornings, too…  
  
“Noct?” called a concerned voice from outside. “It’s nearly noon. Are you alright?”  
  
“Damn!” Noctis swore, and immediately noticed that his lower lip felt _strange_ \-- it felt _much_ too big for his mouth. He bolted upright in his bed, bringing a hand up to gingerly touch the spot in question. Oh, his lip was _definitely_ swollen. Weird. Maybe he had bitten it in his sleep -- he’d always been given to vivid dreams, but sometimes he didn’t remember them when he awoke.  
  
He disentangled himself from his sheets and, still in his nightshirt, opened the door. Ignis stood outside, arms crossed, prim and proper in his usual jacquard waistcoat. Ignis opened his mouth to say something to Noct, but instead became speechless, staring wide-eyed.  
  
“What? Something on my face?” said Noctis.  
  
Ignis took Noct by the shoulders, turned him around and marched him back into his room, closing the door behind them. “‘Something on your face.’ _Really_ , Noct. If you were seeing someone, all you had to do was _tell me_. I wouldn’t have been upset. It’s only that there are _protocols_ for someone of your station, when it comes to romance.”  
  
“‘ _Romance’_? Iggy, what on earth…”  
  
Noctis crossed the room to his bedroom mirror, and suddenly understood why Ignis was concerned: His neck was _covered_ in small bruises that very much appeared to be _hickeys_. And his lip…goodness, it was swollen as though he’d taken a beating -- or a _biting_.  
  
“I swear to you, Ignis -- I have no idea where these came from. It’s like with the blisters the other day. I just woke up and there they were.”  
  
“Well, we shall have to figure out what person has hexed you or what ghost is haunting you at a later time -- your father wishes to speak with you.” Ignis moved to the door and, with one more headshake of disbelief, left Noctis to dress himself.  
  
It wasn’t until Noctis saw the raven fly past his window as he was pulling on his shirt that it hit him like a flash of lightning: his recent nighttime excursions, his _encounter_ with the Faerie King, and the _incontrovertible evidence_ he’d left for Noctis. Noct’s dreams were usually vivid, but not vivid enough to _leave marks_ … Did that mean it was _real_ after all?  
  
Noctis frowned. There were no easy answers here. He tied a scarf around his bruised neck, and went to see his father.  
  


\--~--  
  


Noctis opens his eyes and finds himself in an unfamiliar four-poster bed, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, covered by unfamiliar but _very_ soft blankets. Candles burn in a candelabra beside the bed, but most of the light in the room is coming from the half-moon shining brightly outside the window. He brings a finger to his lip, touches it gingerly. Still swollen. He sighs longingly, remembering the bruising kisses that led to his lip’s condition. The bites that broke skin, and the nibbles along his neck that _didn’t_.  
  
“Ah, you’ve returned.” At least _one_ thing is familiar: that voice, like velvet draped over one’s skin. Noctis sits up in the bed just as Ardyn sits down at the foot of it. He wears a different jacket today, crafted from emerald green velvet, though like the other this one is also replete with all manner of floral embroidery. A crown of laurels sits lightly upon his head. “I did wonder how long it would be til you’d be back. Try as you might, you just can’t stay away, can you.” He brushes Noctis’ cheek with the back of his hand affectionately. Noct blushes at the touch, but does not flinch away. “And what brings you to my realm this time, dear Prince?”  
  
Noctis gazes intently at the blankets for a few moments before speaking. If he really _did_ come here because he feels some deep-seated need to be taken from his responsibilities -- then he knows _exactly_ why he’s here this time.  
  
“My father…named me his Regent. He hasn’t passed the crown to me yet, but…”  
  
“But for all intents and purposes, _you_ now rule the Kingdom,” Ardyn interrupts. “My _my_ , that _is_ a heavy burden to bear -- especially for one so young as you. And the added burden of having your father in such a state as he is…”  
  
Noctis freezes. “How do you know about that?”  
  
“I _was_ at your party, was I not? And besides that, I have told you -- my ravens are very skilled at collecting information for me.” Noct wonders suddenly if the raven he saw outside his window was spying on _him_. “Poor King Regis, weakened by illness, trembling as he walks through the crowd to greet his guests.” Ardyn shakes his head.  
  
Letting himself fall back into the feather-soft bed with a _whumpf_ , Noctis lets out a deep groaning sigh, covering his face with his arms as though trying to block out the world. “I just…wish he were _healthy_ again. I’m not _ready to rule_.”  
  
Ardyn’s lips curl into a smug grin. “So few of us are, when we ascend to our thrones.” He strokes the stubble of his chin in contemplation. “Perhaps we may be of some _mutual assistance_ to one another.”  
  
Noctis props himself up onto his elbows, one eyebrow raised curiously. “How’s that?”  
  
“Well, they _do_ call me _Granter of Desires_ for a reason. Shall I grant yours? Return your father’s health to him?”  
  
Noctis crawls across the bed on his hands and knees. He stares at Ardyn with an astonished expression, his eyes wide. “You can _do_ that?”  
  
Ardyn’s laugh is patronizing. “Of course I can. What sort of Fae would I be if I couldn’t do something as simple as _heal a mortal_?”  
  
It isn’t as though Noctis knows any other Fae to compare Ardyn’s skills to, so he’ll just have to trust the man. “You said something about this being ‘ _mutual_.’ Does that mean you want something from me?”  
  
A smile dances across Ardyn’s face. “A price must be paid for services rendered -- though I don’t think you’ll find it _too_ terribly objectionable. Come, take a walk with me, won’t you?”  
  
Ardyn rises from the bed, holding out his hand for Noctis, who scoots rear-first to the foot of the bed and allows Ardyn to pull him up by the hand. He leads Noct out of the bedroom and into another dimly-lit hallway.  
  
“Is it always dark here?” Noct asks.  
  
“Hmm, how best to explain…” Ardyn clasps his hands behind his back as he walks. “We also have a daytime, however, it is easiest for mortals to cross between realms under cover of night. And our nights are much longer than our days. You know what they say -- all the _fun_ things happen at night.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively at Noct. “Ah, we’ve arrived.”  
  
The hallway opens up onto a great circular room, at the center of which sits an absolutely _massive_ tree, beyond any shadow of a doubt the biggest Noct has ever seen in his life. The branches reach up through the open ceiling and into the clear night sky. The roots extend into the palace floor, running toward the hallways that jut off of the central room like the spokes of a wheel. The lower trunk is hollow through the middle but for four wooden columns keeping the upper trunk and branches from collapsing onto the parts below. Sitting there, on the tree’s stump -- _part_ of the tree’s stump -- are two elaborately-carved and polished wooden thrones. The whole tree gives off an ethereal glow, and small yellow-green lights dance around it, like fireflies in summer.  
  
Noct gasps softly as his eyes take in the tree. “This is your throne room?”  
  
“Indeed,” says Ardyn.  
  
“You know, I just thought about this, but,” Noctis furrows his brow in an expression of genuine concern, “if you’re the Faerie _King_ …where are all the other Faeries?”  
  
“My,” Ardyn chuckles sadly, but not unkindly. “You’re very observant today, Noctis.”  
  
Ardyn walks forward and settles into his throne. He crosses his legs at the knee and rests his elbows on the armrests, weaving his outstretched fingers together over his lap. Noct follows him over, but does not presume to sit in the empty throne. He stands before Ardyn and waits for a response.  
  
“As luck would have it, your question is related to the offer I would like to make you. As you have noticed, it is quite empty here. In times long ago, my Court was full to bursting with all manner of Salamander and Dryad, Sylph and Undine, and many others…but no more.” The Jester’s grin he always wears becomes a deep frown. “Fae survive on the faith of mortals. In the old days, mortals worshipped us, left us gifts to appease us. But as time marched on, we became mere bedtime stories -- tales to be told to frighten naughty children into behaving.” He affects his best ‘grandmotherly’ voice. “‘You’d best be good, or the Lord of Tricksters will _snatch you up_!’ -- Ha! As though I would want an army of _mortal brats_ in _my_ Court? Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
“So you’re saying that as people stopped _believing_ in faeries, they… _died_?” Noctis summarizes.  
  
“Not died, but lost power. They are all still present, just in a sort of _coma_. Why do you think this tree glows so brightly? It cradles my subjects while they sleep, and will keep them alive til such time as they awaken.”  
  
“But how can they be like this and…you’re still here?”  
  
“I am the Original, from whence all others came. I know not how I was created nor why I am not bound to the same rules -- but here I am.” Ardyn shrugs half-heartedly. “And I have been here, alone, for quite some time, which brings me to my proposal. I will restore your father to health. In return, I ask that you stay here with me. Since my subjects are… _indisposed_ at this time, my current responsibilities as a monarch are quite minimal, and thus yours would be as well. I simply want for company. Companionship. Surely you -- lone Prince of your line -- can understand this.”  
  
Noct crosses his arms, pursing his lips tightly. He does understand. Princes aren’t usually known for having a large number of close friends. Noctis has Ignis, and, if he’s being honest with himself…that’s about it. He’s felt that raw, aching loneliness in the middle of the night. The pull to be close to someone, but having no one to be close to. He couldn’t imagine having to endure that for as many years as Ardyn has. Noct comes to a decision.  
  
“Alright. I accept.”  
  
Ardyn practically leaps from his throne. He takes Noctis by the shoulders, squeezing them tightly. “Excellent, my dear Prince! I am pleased you’ve seen the benefits this arrangement will have for us both.”  
  
Noct gives him a quick nod. “So how does this work?”  
  
“Why, we must _seal the deal_ , naturally.” When he sees Noct’s face turn bright red, he hastily adds, “With but a _kiss_ , Noctis -- though I shan’t protest if you should wish to venture _further_.”  
  
He nods again. It wasn’t that he was completely _opposed_ to the thought of sleeping with Ardyn. It just seemed a bit much for what would have been the equivalent of signing on a dotted line in his world. Another time maybe.  
  
“Now then, before we do this, I must be _certain_ you consent.” He looks Noct dead in the eyes, his golden irises pinning Noct to the floor. Noctis is beginning to wonder if his eyes alone aren't magical. “Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum -- in sight of the Old Gods, whose covenants you shall break at your own peril, do you consent to our arrangement? That I should restore your father to health, and in return you shall stay and be my companion?”  
  
“Yeah, I consent. Go ahead,” says Noctis.  
  
“Well, well -- aren’t _we_ eager?” Ardyn laughs.  
  
The kiss that follows is a different breed entirely from the ones that had happened in the hallway before -- those rushed, urgent, needful kisses that had left Noctis breathless. For one, he could swear Ardyn is _glowing_. There seems to be a halo behind his head, illuminating his messy hair and laurel crown. Ardyn parts Noct’s lips and breathes into him, pouring the light in, filling him with warmth. It’s as though Noctis has nearly drowned, and Ardyn is bringing him back to life. A tingling sensation starts from Noct’s scalp and travels right down to his toes. It dizzies him, and he reaches out to grasp Ardyn’s jacket for balance. In response, Ardyn runs his fingers through the short hair at the back of Noct’s head, pulling the Prince tightly to him. Noctis is unsurprised to find that he _does_ want more -- _needs_ more -- but as quickly as it had begun, the kiss is over, and Ardyn is pulling away from him.  
  
Noct whines in complaint, eyes still closed.  
  
“Oh, don’t be like _that_. We can _certainly_ continue later -- I simply thought you might wish for me to go ahead and hold up _my end_ of the bargain.” Ardyn strokes Noct’s chin with his finger, prompting Noct to open his eyes.  
  
Noct looks down at his hands. A faint golden glow radiates from his skin. “That…wasn’t an ordinary kiss, was it. What did you do to me?”  
  
Ardyn’s smirks. “Nothing that you did not consent to. We have sealed our covenant. The residual energy you are seeing should subside within a day or so. It’s quite powerful you know, binding magic.”  
  
“Alright,” Noctis huffs. “I’ll take your word for it. Now what are you doing about my father?”  
  
“I require a few items from the apothecary. I shall return momentarily -- do feel free to sit. It _is_ _your_ seat now, after all.” He motions towards the second, smaller throne.  
  
Noct does as he suggests and, as he sits in the smooth, wooden throne, Ardyn disappears. It was just like he’d done on the balcony, the day they’d met, Noct thinks. He runs his hands over the armrests of the throne, taking note of the whorls and knots in the wood. He can’t even begin to imagine how old this tree -- and the thrones that are part of it -- must be.  
  
He’s considering taking a quick nap when Ardyn reappears with an armful of glass jars and a mortar and pestle in hand. Noct jumps up to help, taking a few jars from him. Noct follows him from the thrones to another room down one of the spoke-hallways. “Room” is a rather generous word. It’s more like a cavern has naturally occurred inside the palace, with damp rock walls and a stone floor. Noct has stopped wondering how these things happened to get inside a palace. In the center of the cavern is a dais, with what is clearly an altar and a large stone bowl upon it.  
  
“Come along, then. Bring everything up here,” Ardyn instructs. He places his armful of jars on the altar, and Noctis follows suit. Ardyn begins uncorking the jars, which open with a quiet squeak and a small pop.  
  
Noct watches Ardyn intently as he diligently works the mortar and pestle, grinding herbs. Eventually it becomes difficult to do with his jacket on -- velvet is not a forgiving fabric when it comes to this sort of thing -- so Ardyn removes it, handing it to Noctis for safekeeping. He rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing his well-defined forearms, and dives back in.  
  
“There we are,” Ardyn announces after a time. “Just one last ingredient remains.”  
  
“What’s that?” asks Noct.  
  
Swift as a cat swiping a bird from the air, Ardyn turns to Noct and yanks a single strand of hair from his head. Noct puts his hand to the tender spot, looking more offended than injured.  
  
“A hair from the supplicant,” Ardyn explains, placing the hair into the stone bowl along with the contents of the mortar. “Now then -- you may wish to stand back for this part.”  
  
Noct takes a few steps back, off of the dais. He crosses his arms and waits to see what will happen.  
  
Ardyn raises his arms in the air, as though calling an invisible orchestra to order. Noctis jerks back as a fire abruptly ignites in the bowl, the flame turning from the normal yellow-orange to a soft green -- the color of the luminescent tree in the grand hall. Over the crackling of the flames, a humming sound emerges. Listening more carefully, Noct realizes it isn’t humming he hears -- it’s _chanting_. Ardyn is speaking words over the stone bowl, but they’re no words Noct has ever heard before -- they’re guttural and harsh. Fleetingly, he wonders what language it is. Ardyn’s chanting grows louder, and the flames grow higher. Noct hears a few words he _does_ recognize: _Regis Lucis Caelum_. The hairs on the back of Noct’s neck stand on end, and the tingling sensation that had come to him during the sealing of their covenant returns. He shudders as it spreads, from his core outward to his extremities. Is _this_ what raw magic feels like?  
  
The ritual builds to a crescendo, Ardyn gesturing wildly as he shouts in tongues. The flames follow his movements, swirling about, licking the ceiling of the cavern. Noctis isn't certain what any of this has to do with healing -- but he's never seen a Fae ceremony before, so he’ll just have to trust that Ardyn is keeping his word. The blaze spins faster and faster, up and out of the stone bowl, and Noct’s heart skips a beat as a small _cyclone_ of flames forms. He takes an extra step back from the dais, for good measure. Ardyn guides the fiery cyclone with his hands, the wind and heat blowing his hair back. Bringing his hands close to his chest, the cyclone collapses in on itself, becoming a tight ball of flame. It begins to shrink, the light growing dimmer, until it finally dissipates entirely -- and something _plunks_ into the stone bowl below.  
  
Noctis exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. _Magic_. Would he ever get used to it?  
  
“What…what just happened?” Noctis asks.  
  
“Well, dear Noctis,” Ardyn reaches into the stone bowl and pulls out a small pellet. He holds it up for Noct to see. “I have here the cure for what ails King Regis.”  
  
Noct stares, wide-eyed. “Seriously? It’ll…it’ll really help him? He’ll be back to his old self?”  
  
“He might even end up _healthier_ than _you_ ,” Ardyn laughs. He takes a silk square from his waistcoat pocket and carefully wraps the pellet, then places it back in his pocket.  
  
“So when can we give it to him?”  
  
“ _We_ will not do anything,” Ardyn explains. “It would look _quite suspicious_ if the Prince were to be seen putting anything _unknown_ into the King’s food or drink, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
Noctis hadn’t thought of it that way…but Ardyn was right. Especially since he had been named Regent, it might be taken as him trying to poison his father to take the throne _sooner_ \-- instead of the exact opposite.  
  
“ _I_ , on the other hand, can move about undetected by mortal eyes and, say…dissolve this in his glass of evening mulled wine? He’ll be none the wiser, for all the spices.”  
  
Noct decides not to ask how Ardyn knows his father likes mulled wine in the evenings.  
  
“Okay. Yeah -- if it’ll help him.”  
  
Ardyn nods solemnly. He looks up at the ceiling and squints, as though searching for something. Noct follows his gaze, trying -- and failing -- to see what he sees. “We’re in luck -- ‘tis about that time in your world. I shall return shortly, Noctis. Do make yourself at home while I’m gone.”  
  
He disappears in a blink of Noct’s eyes, leaving behind a few black feathers as he always seems to do. Noct takes a deep breath. He can only hope that he’s done the right thing. He exits the cavern-room and heads back to the grand hall.  
  


\--~--  
  


When Ardyn reappears some time later, he finds Noctis leaning back with his head propped up on his hand, dozing lightly on the smaller of the two thrones.  
  
He _could_ leave the Prince to sleep…but where’s the fun in that?  
  
Ardyn leans down to Noct, pressing a kiss to his lips. Noctis stirs, stretching his limbs like a cat. He rubs his eyes and blinks them open, trying to focus on the face before him.  
  
“Did you sleep well, Your Highness?”  
  
“Ardyn…” Noct yawns. “How’d it go?”  
  
“A _rousing_ success -- no one was any the wiser. Would you care to see how he fares?”  
  
Noctis stands up, nodding.  
  
Ardyn holds up a hand and moves it in a circular motion in the open air. Mist begins to form, which freezes and becomes a mirror of ice. It hangs in the air by some magical mechanism, and reflected in it Noct can see figures moving. The images are a bit blurry, as one would expect from an ice mirror, but he can still make out a familiar background: the palace courtyard. It’s daytime -- morning, judging by angle of the sunlight -- and attendants are buzzing about. But in the center of the action, he sees two figures walking side-by-side. It’s his father, and his father’s closest confidante, Clarus.  
  
At first Noctis doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and he’s about to tell Ardyn so -- but then he looks more closely. Clarus is smiling at the King. His father isn’t hunched over. He isn’t even using his cane or wearing his leg brace. He’s _walking tall_. Noctis watches them for a full five minutes, waiting for King Regis to fall into one of his coughing fits -- any second now, it’ll happen, he thinks -- but it never does.  
  
“Ardyn…” Noct starts, “this is amazing, but…how can I be sure it’s real?”  
  
“Have I give you any reason to mistrust me, Noctis?”  
  
“Well, no, but--”  
  
Ardyn raises a hand to interrupt him. “--That’s alright, I understand. This is all new to you. I had a feeling you might find it difficult to believe, so I took the liberty of taking _this_ from the King’s chambers while I was there, as proof I did indeed visit. You’ll recognize it, I’m sure?”  
  
From his waistcoat pocket Ardyn pulls a small piece of paper and hands it to Noctis. It’s a photograph of a family -- a father, mother, and a young son -- posed formally. Noctis remembers the day it was taken. It wasn’t long before his mother died, after all. They’d sat for the photograph so the painter would have a reference to go by for their royal portrait. He recalls his legs falling asleep as his mother held him in her lap. After she died, and the painting had been finished and hung in the great hall, his father had begun keeping the reference photo in his shirt pocket, to have his dearly departed wife close to him always.  
  
Noctis puts the photograph in his own pocket. He’d give it back the next time he saw his father. He nods to Ardyn, who allows the ice mirror to dissolve back into mist and evaporate.  
  
Ardyn steps closer to Noct. He leans down to whisper in the Prince’s ear.  
  
“Shall we continue where we left off earlier, Prince Noctis?” He grazes Noct’s earlobe with his teeth.  
  
Noct shivers with delight. At first he thinks maybe it might be nice to get back in that fluffy bed -- but it’s _so far away_ , and _damned_ if he doesn’t need Ardyn _now_. Taking Ardyn by the hands, he guides him to turn around so that Noctis is the one facing the thrones. He nudges Ardyn to take steps back, until he gets the hint and takes a seat in his own, larger throne. Noctis takes hold of the back and pulls himself up and onto Ardyn’s lap.  
  
“My, it has _certainly_ been some time since the throne received _this_ sort of attention.”  
  
Noctis puts a finger to Ardyn’s lips. “Shh. Shut up and enjoy it, would you?”  
  
He can’t help but smile at Ardyn’s playful expression behind his finger.  
  


\--~--  
  


It had been nearly a year since Prince Noctis had gone missing when the tall man with the wine-red hair appeared out of thin air on King Regis’ chamber balcony. Regis had drawn his own dagger rather than call for the guards, which Ardyn thought spoke quite a bit to his character.  
  
“Oh now, is that any way to treat the one responsible for bringing you back to health, Your Majesty?” Ardyn chuckled. “Though I do apologize for the abrupt entrance. I can’t exactly guarantee an audience with you through the _traditional_ channels, so I’m afraid this was the only way. Your son bade me bring you this.” He held out a small piece of paper.  
  
Regis sheathed his dagger and took it from him. “My photograph…but how did you--? And how did he--? _Where is_ _Noctis_?”  
  
“He is hale and hearty, and the sole reason that you are as well, my good king -- his sacrifice paid for your cure,” Ardyn explained.  
  
“His _sacrifice_? What does that _mean_? And why has he not he come home?” Regis asked, near to tears.  
  
“I assure you that it is not because he does not deeply love and care for you, Your Majesty. I am here both to return your photograph and to extend an invitation to you and…is the fellow’s name ‘Ignis’? I believe Noct said ‘Ignis.’” Ardyn pauses. “Regardless, I welcome you both to my kingdom to see Noctis.”  
  
Regis stares. “ _Your_ … _kingdom_?”  
  
“Yes, of course -- I am Ardyn, Lord of Tricksters and King of Faerie.” Ardyn bows to Regis with a flourish. “Your dear son is my _consort_. It didn’t start out that way -- at first we were merely _casual lovers_ \-- but once he found out he had actually agreed _never to leave_ Faerie, well, it just seemed right to make things more _official_ between us. Now he truly is _mine forever_.” He smiles wickedly. “Mortals always forget to ask for the small details of these arrangements _before_ they consent…Such a pity.”  
  
This time, Regis _does_ call for the guards, with a look of horror on his face -- but by the time they get into the room, the only trace of the strange visitor is a single black feather left on the balcony.  
  


\--~--  
  


“How’d it go?” asks Noct, rolling over on the great, feather-soft bed.  
  
“Well, your father called the guards on me--”  
  
“Told you so,” Noct interrupts.  
  
“--but I _did_ return the photograph. And invited him ‘round for supper. It may take a few tries to convince him, though.”  
  
Noctis is quiet for a moment before speaking again. “You should’ve _told_ me I couldn’t leave, Ardyn.”  
  
“We’ve spoken about this at length. You _consented_ to our arrangement -- which was for you to _stay here_ with me -- _without asking_ for any further details. _Honestly. Most_ people at least add _stipulations_.” Ardyn rubs his forehead, miming a headache, then crosses his arms and heaves a great sigh. “Are you not happy here with me, Noctis?”  
  
Noct sits up. “I just thought I’d be able to visit home sometimes when I agreed. That’s all.” He opens his arms, inviting Ardyn into the bed with him. Ardyn obliges, nuzzling Noct’s neck and wrapping his arms around Noct’s waist. “But yeah, I’m happy here. With you.”  
  
“And do you wish I had never stolen you away?”  
  
“Of course not. If it weren’t for you, I’d be…I don’t know, halfway to ruining my kingdom by now, probably.”  
  
“Perhaps.” Ardyn sits up and begins to pull himself from the bed. “Well, I suppose it is rather late for you, is it not? You mortals and your need for sleep. I suppose I shall let you get to it, then.”  
  
“Not before you kiss me goodnight, you won’t,” Noctis protests.  
  
Ardyn chuckles, turning back around. “Ah yes, of course -- how could I forget.”  
  
He cups Noct’s face in his hand and brings his lips to Noct’s. This kiss is neither urgent, nor mystical. It is comfortable and familiar, the kiss of those who have crossed from the ardent fires of passion to the calmer waters of deep intimacy. Noctis takes Ardyn’s head in his hands and kisses his forehead affectionately in response.  
  
“Goodnight, dear Noct,” Ardyn purrs.  
  
“See you in my dreams,” Noct replies.  
  
Noctis does not dream of Ardyn. He dreams of talking with Ignis, and strolling through the palace courtyard with his father. But when he wakes, he can’t recall having dreamt at all.  
  


\--~--  
  


Beyond the bedchamber, in the grand hall, Ardyn rises from his throne as one of the dancing lights surrounding the tree descends slowly to the floor, like snow falling in winter. For a moment it lays still, unchanging. Suddenly, there is a flash of bright light, a quiet _pop_ , and then nothing. Ardyn moves towards the spot cautiously and squats down to get a closer look.  
  
Curled up on the floor is a small pixie, her glistening wings wet with dew. She stands, yawns, and stretches, rubbing her eyes. She jumps slightly when she notices Ardyn, but takes a moment to gather herself and curtsy.  
  
“Warm greetings, little one, and welcome home.” Ardyn smiles cordially at her. “‘Twould seem that even _one_ mortal’s belief in us is enough to work miracles. Perhaps we shall continue to see more of your brethren in the days to come. Yes?”  
  
The little pixie nods, then cocks her head to the side questioningly.  
  
“Ah yes, you don’t know about him. Come along then, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”  
  
Her wings are drying quickly, but not fast enough, so Ardyn puts out his hand for her. He brings the hand up to his shoulder, and the pixie gladly takes a seat. Noct will be upset at being woken up, but Ardyn will just deal with the consequences later. The first reappearance of the Fae after so long is cause for celebration -- and they cannot celebrate without the Prince of Faerie.


End file.
